Storms And Sickbeds
by MimiRose113
Summary: Steve's dad chucks him out again in the middle of a stormy night. By the time he makes it to the Curtis house, he's not feeling so great... Sick fic!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Outsiders. I merely borrow them.**

**Author notes: Please note this is unbetaed, so let me know of any glaring mistakes.**

**I recently got a plot bunny for a sick Steve fic and just had to type it up right away. I thought I'd post as I go as then I'll have the motivation to actually carry on. :D**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Steve's POV<strong>

I ran out the house as fast as my legs could carry me, hearing a bottle smash to the ground not too far behind me. I could hear him yelling and swearing at me as I took off down the street, telling me to come back and take my beating like a man. Screw that. One of these days one of us is going to end up dead, either him going too far or me snapping and fighting back. I'm not sure which would be worse.

I slowed to a walk and turned in the direction of the Curtis' home. Where else was I gonna go really? I figured I'd crash on the couch, maybe snag some breakfast later depending on who was doing the cooking. The rain was pelting down like nobody's business and I wished I had had the chance to grab my coat. I wiped my wet hair from my eyes and shoved my hands in my jeans' pockets, bowing my head against the wind. Glory, when had that picked up? It was jeering almost, throwing rain in my face. My shirt was already soaked through and I wasn't even halfway there. Dang, another reason I wish I had my coat. My car keys were in the pocket, I coulda drove and been there by now. Or even driven to Buck's and slept in the parking lot. Woulda done me.

I shivered and took a breath, feeling the iciness of it shoot down into my lungs. Jeez, it was cold! I took my hands from my pockets and blew on my numb fingers. Yeah, that worked. Not. I tried wrapping my arms around myself and rubbing my arms but that minute warmth did little to raise my spirits.

I turned into their road and fixed my sights on the house. Not far to go. Almost there, Steve. Great, now I'm talking to myself. Ponyboy would probably say that's the first sign of madness and if he weren't Soda's little brother I'd deck him.

I made it to the gate and headed up the path, stumbling over the bottom of the porch steps. Great, steps. I was feeling tired and I really didn't want to climb any steps. After all, there was a whole _four_ of them. Where's an elevator when you need it?

I finally reached the porch and almost fell against the wall beside the front door. I slid down into a seated position and leant my head back. Strangely enough I was beginning to feel warmer now. I was feeling out of breath – and, yes, I'm blaming the steps – and the air was rasping harshly in my windpipe, burning my throat. The walk, the wind, the steps – they must have all worn me out some as I was beginning to feel sleepy. Sleepy and warm. I slouched more against the wall and closed my eyes, hearing myself let out a violent sneeze. Huh, must be a bit of driving dust. Then I coughed, once, twice, then a several more, each one making my chest hurt and knocking blissful sleep back a few more moments. I heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps, then a curse. A blurry voice hit my ears but I ignored it. I sneezed again. Pressure on my arm, unappreciated shaking and more words. Hands under my arms, dragging me up, making me stand. Then the ground came up to meet me real fast...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author notes: Yeah, last one was short but I thought it easier to upload the different POVs in different chappies. Again, unbetaed.**

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><p><strong>Darry's POV<strong>

It began like any other evening. I got home from work, me and Pony had our usual fight – no, _disagreement,_ no more fights, remember? – about school or homework or something. I really don't bother to keep them straight anymore, they all end with Soda calming us down and Pony doing what I wanted just 'cos Soda then decided to tell him to. And they wonder why I complain. Sheesh. Anyway, evening was pretty much as normal until after dinner and my brothers had both gone to bed. I was sitting in my chair, reading the paper, when I heard a thud from outside. I ignored it, the wind was going crazy, it had probably just blown something on to the porch. Then came a sneeze and a long bout of coughing. Yeah, I may never have got to college but I know wind doesn't sneeze. Curious now, I got up and made my way to the front door, opening it and stepping outside. To find one Steve Randle slumped on my porch in the middle of a rainstorm.

I swore and instantly knelt down beside him.

"Steve? Ya okay, buddy?"

Okay, admittedly a stupid question. He sure as heck didn't _look_ okay. He was pale, except for those red blotches on his cheeks. His car wasn't on the driveway and I couldn't see it anywhere along the road either, so I'm guessing he walked here. That explained the considerate amount of water in his clothing that I'm sure wasn't there when he bought them.

He sneezed again and I grabbed his arm, shaking him a little to try and invoke a response.

"Steve, buddy, wake up, mate. Stevo?"

Nothing. Now I was beginning to feel more than slight concern. I caught him under the armpits and hauled him up, propping him against the wall whilst keeping my hold on him. His eyes opened a crack for a fraction of a second then he went limp. I wasn't expecting that and nearly dropped him. I just simply caught him around the waist with one arm and opened the door with the other, half-carrying, half-dragging him into the house. For a half a moment I considered dumping him on the couch, then changed my mind. I set him on his feet – not that he wanted to stay on them – just long enough for me to move my grip around behind his back and knees and heft him up into my arms. I carried him through the house to my own bedroom and put him down on my bed. The duvet instantly got soaked but we have a surprising amount of blankets in the wardrobes so I didn't really give two hoots.

As soon as I released him, he began shivering and the first thought in my head was to get him out of those damn clothes. I slipped an arm behind him to sit him up, managing to peel his shirt off, then removed his shoes and socks. If he were conscious he probably would have objected to the fact that I then pulled his jeans off him, leaving him in just his boxers. Problem there was that they were wet too...

Well, there wasn't any point in stripping him of his wet things to leave him in damp underwear, now, was there? I somehow managed to put him in a pair of mine without ruining too much dignity for either of us, and will be all too happy if that act never escapes that room. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, I rubbed him dry and finally rolled him under the covers, switching the damp duvet for a spare bedspread and a blanket. I made another trip to the bathroom, this time to change my own now-damp shirt, grabbing the thermometer on my way out and carefully slid it under his tongue.

"100.5," I read a few minutes later. "Crikey, Steve, what the hell you been up to?"

I wasn't expecting a reply so was immensely startled when he actually opened his eyes and blinked at me drowsily.

"Darry?" he slurred, sounding confused.

"Yeah, Steve, it's me."

"Wha' ya doin' in ma house?"

"You're in mine, Stevo. Ya don't remember?"

His eyes flickered about the room.

"Oh, yeah," he murmured. "Walked."

"Yeah, that weren't a smart thing, kid," I told him sternly.

"Hadda...hadda get 'way. Dad."

I felt a strange sense of anger boil up inside me at that. I had never liked Steve's dad, I guess you could say for obvious reasons, but what kinda father drove his own son out into weather like this?

"Jeez, and at one o'clock in the morning too," I muttered to myself.

Steve heard and his eyes widened a tad more.

"One 'clock? I shou' go..."

He attempted to get out the bed and I instantly pushed him back down.

"No! You are not going anywheres, Steve Randle," I scolded, covering him up once more. "Ya are not even leaving this bed, let alone the house! Ya hear me?"

"But's ya bed, Dar," he protested feebly.

"You need it more than I do right now, kid."

"But – "

"No buts, Steve. You're not moving 'til I says ya can. And right now, ya going to sleep."

I don't think I really even needed to tell him, he was halfway to Dreamland already. Except he was too stubborn to succumb and wanted to argue some more.

"In ya way, Dar," he murmured, pushing back the blankets again.

I determinedly pulled them up then sat on the edge of the bed beside him so he had no hope of escape. Then it registered what he just said.

"In the way? Why would you think that?"

"Ya got 'nuff ta do without me here," he slurred, eyes drifting shut. "Got...got Soda an' Pony an' work an'...an' more work. Don't need me 'ere. Got ya family ta take care of."

"Well, you're part of that family, kid."

His eyes opened again.

"Wha'?" he asked, genuinely not understanding.

This was becoming a conversation I don't think I'd ever had had with Steve if he had been fully conscious. And I mean ever.

"Ya part of that family, kid," I repeated. "Ya and Two-Bit are like extra brothers to us. Ya think I don't care that you've just turned up on my doorstep looking half-dead?"

"Dad wouldn't."

I felt that angry burning again.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't deserve that title," I grimaced.

I looked down at him to see his eyes were half-closed and decided this talk had gone on long enough.

"Ya not in the way, little buddy," I said in a gentler voice, not wanting to jerk him out of his sleepiness with a harsh tone. "Just close ya eyes and go to sleep, 'kay?"

His eyes stayed fixed on me as if trying to read my true feelings from my face and I wondered when he had become so insecure. It actually kinda hurt to see him looking at me like he didn't believe me and I found myself stroking his hair like Soda had done to Ponyboy when he was sick. I don't know quite what compelled me to do it but he didn't object so I didn't see any reason not to continue, brushing away hair from his forehead, hair that was now damp with sweat and not rainwater.

"Go. To .Sleep." I breathed the words barely above a whisper and he finally closed his eyes and within minutes he was out.

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><p>His night was restless, constantly moving, kicking off the covers one minute then shivering the next. I placed a cool cloth on his forehead, which seemed to help, and tucked the covers in so tight he couldn't throw them off if he tried. Eventually, when he seemed to settle down a bit, I tried for sleep myself and dozed on the sofa for about an hour or so, then gave up and headed back into my room and collapsed on the bed beside Steve. Hey, it was a double and technically it was <em>my<em> bed. But it wasn't actually the soft mattress that lured me, more the fact that I was worried I wouldn't hear if he awoke.

He didn't, and I slept through 'til morning and woke up to the sounds of my brothers preparing breakfast. I got off the bed and stretched, leaning over to check Steve's hot forehead before throwing on a shirt over my boxers and heading out the room towards the kitchen.

"Morning, Darry," Soda greeted, barely turning away from the stove. It looked like he was attempting fried eggs.

"Morning, guys."

Ponyboy made a noise around a mouthful of toast that I took to be some kind of response. I opened the fridge and studied the contents, frowning. Crap. No OJ. We had plenty of grapefruit juice but I knew for dead certain that Steve hated the stuff and although making him drink it would be for his benefit it did seem slightly on the cruel side to me. I grabbed the phone and dialled.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Two-Bit."

"Hey to you, Dar. What's up?"

"You comin' over some time this morning?"

"Dunno. Why? Ya missing me?"

He cracked up laughing and I had to smile.

"Well, if ya do head over, pick up some orange juice for us, 'kay?"

"Whatd'ya need OJ that urgent for?"

"For Steve. He's not feeling too good."

I instantly felt two pairs of eyes burning in my back and turned to see Pony and Soda staring at me. In answer to Soda's questioning gaze I simply pointed to my room and he was gone like a shot. Leaving the eggs on the stove, I might add.

"Seriously? Okay, Dar, I'll pick some up and swing it by," he agreed.

I hung up just as Soda came back in the room and I removed the frying pan from the heat before his breakfast totally frizzled.

"Crikey, Dar, what happened to him?"

I shrugged.

"He turned up late last night. Think he had some beef with his dad and left. I dunno where his car's at but he ended up walking all the way here in that storm."

I was going to add the bit about the lack of a jacket but thought Soda looked worried enough over his best friend's state.

"Eat your breakfast, Soda. I'm just gonna take his temperature again."

I took the bottle of Tylenol and a glass of cold water with me, hoping to get some kind of fluid into the kid. Okay, yeah, I know Steve's not exactly a kid but still. Anyone who can't dress themselves for the weather sure as hell ain't 'grown-up' in my book.

He was stirring as I entered, which made me less guilty about attempting to wake him, so I put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

"Steve? Wake up, buddy, c'mon."

He moaned and tried to roll away from me, burying himself further under the covers.

"No go, buddy. Ya needa wake up and take some tablets. They'll make you feel better."

"Go 'way. Tired."

"You can go back to sleep right after, promise."

He finally opened his eyes and looked up at me. I couldn't help noticing they looked kinda glassy.

"Take this, Steve."

He groaned when he saw the thermometer and hid his face again.

"Don't wanna."

"Tough."

I rolled him over easily – he didn't exactly have the energy to put up much resistance – and he grudgingly did as I bided and took the thermometer in his mouth. When I removed it I swore.

"Dammit, Steve, it's gone up. 103 ain't good, ya know."

No wonder his face was so flushed. He didn't seem concerned by the news, however. I'm not even sure if he really heard me.

"Steve? Don't go 'sleep yet, buddy. Take these now, mate."

I hefted him up into a sitting position, leaning him against my shoulder and offered him the pills in my hand. He can't have been feeling all too good as he took them without a fight then swallowed the water I gave him next, before slumping heavily against me.

"Urgh. Hurts, Dar."

"I know, buddy," I consoled, laying him back down. "Go back to sleep now, Stevo. Ya'll feel better soon."

He complied and I heard the front door bang shut and Two-Bit hollering his usual greeting. A few minutes later, he popped his head around the door.

"Hey, Darry. Juice is in the fridge."

"Cheers, Two-Bit," I answered, still watching Steve intently, waiting to see if he'd start fidgeting again.

Two-Bit came fully into the room then and stood by the bed.

"Shit, he really don't look so hot."

"Uh uh."

"He got flu or summick?" he asked, crawling on to the other side of the bed and sat against the headboard.

"I'm not sure. Seems so. I'm wondering if he's got a touch of hypothermia too."

"Hypothermia?"

"Ah huh. Explains the shivers he had last night and explains why his temperature's gone up. I think he had a fever from the flu to start with and the hypothermia knocked it down."

We were both silent for a few moments then I looked up at a quiet noise from the doorway to see Sodapop standing there.

"You heading to work soon, Dar? Need a ride?"

His brown eyes were going between me and Steve, and I could practically see the real question in his mind.

_What about Steve?_

"Um, I dunno, Soda," I replied honestly. I hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Go, Dar. Ya needa work," Two-Bit told me.

He lounged further back on the bed and I looked at him. Pony had already headed off to school and, by all accounts, Two-Bit should be following.

"And ya should – "

"Go to work, Darry," he interrupted. He grinned at me. "I've already missed four days this week. Might as well make it a hat-trick."

I opened my mouth to point out that five was not a hat-trick then closed it again and shook my head. Unlike with Ponyboy, I couldn't force him to go.

"Fine. You win."

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><p>The day passed by as a blur. If you asked me what I did, heck, I couldn't tell ya. I was easily distracted, not really paying much attention to anything around me.<p>

My boss Jim called me on it.

"Hey, Curtis, ya head's not in it today. Something on ya mind?"

"Sorry, Jim. Can't really concentrate much."

"Why's that?"

"Got a flu case at home."

"Oh, aye, I see." I guess he did. He may be twice as old as I was but he had a daughter Pony's age. "Plays on your mind, dunnit, when someone's sick. Look, we're nearly done here. Why don't you head off early?"

"Jim, ya sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Ya do enough favours for me." He clapped me on the back. "Go take care of ya brother."

As I got into my truck and headed for the crossroads it occurred to me. I hadn't even thought to correct him.

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><p>I got home and my first instinct was we'd been robbed. Two significant items had vanished. Then I noticed the trailing wire and followed the TV cable into my bedroom, where Two-Bit was sitting cross-legged in the easy chair now by the bed, just watching cartoons. And I mean 'just watching'. The telly was on mute.<p>

"Ya home early, Dar."

"Yeah, Boss let me slip off. How's he doing?"

He shrugged.

"So-so. No worse though and his temp's gone down half a degree."

"Well, that's something."

I moved to the bedside to check him myself, placing my hand on his still sweaty forehead. I noticed a slight movement of his jaw and realised he was sucking on something in his mouth. I promptly squelched the suspicious feeling that arose. Two-Bit may be a joker but I didn't really believe he'd poison Steve on his sickbed. My eyes landed on the two glasses on the bedside cabinet. One half-full of orange juice, the second...

"Ice cubes?"

Two-Bit glanced at me.

"Yeah. His lips were chapped so I thought his mouth might be dry. I kept giving him water but it never seemed to last long. So I started giving him ice cubes. They last longer and I thought they might cool him down some."

"Just watch he don't choke on them."

Two-Bit's eyes widened and he shot up from the chair.

"Shit! I didn't think of that! Oh, Darry – "

"It's okay, it's okay," I reassured, partly wishing I hadn't said anything. "It's fine. _He's_ fine."

Two-Bit relaxed visibly.

"I honestly didn't think of that," he confessed, looking up at me with a troubled expression.

"It's okay, no harm done. It was actually a real good idea, Two-Bit," I admitted.

His face lit up and he grinned at me with pleasure. How often did Two-Bit hear praise like that, I wondered. I mean, _real_ praise, not just calling him funny or tuff but making him feel like he could actually do something right. Not often enough, I'm guessing.

It seemed I was learning a lot this week about my two friends. And learning just how little I really knew.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author note: Another chappie for you all! :)**

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><p><strong>Steve's POV<strong>

I woke up feeling hot and sticky. And really needing the bathroom. Shit, these covers were tight! I finally managed to worm my way out of them and sat up. I was in Darry's room, with a very vague memory of how I got there. I remember making it to the porch. I remember...yeah, I remember waking up before with Darry there. Tylenol. That's right, he gave me Tylenol. Actually, I could do with a few more of them right now.

I slowly set my feet on the floor and carefully pushed off the bed. I didn't like how I wobbled before stumbling over to the doorway and sagging against the jamb. My underwear slid down a few inches and I made a grab for them. Wait, _my_ underwear? Oh, Lord. Okay, don't think about it. Don't wonder how you ended up in boxers that aren't yours. Think about something else. Hell, there's plenty of other things to think about. Damn, am I thirsty. Water, yes, let's go find water. No, bathroom, then water.

I gingerly made my way out the room and down the hall, relying heavily on the wall to hold me up. The house was eerily quiet and I wondered briefly what time it was and if the guys were all at work or school. I slid into the bathroom, relishing the feel of the cold tile under my feet. Business taken care of, next stop was the kitchen and water. I headed further down the hallway with wall still guiding me and entered the kitchen, following the counter around the room until I reached the sink. There was a glass on the drainer. I grabbed it and filled it, taking deep much-needed gulps of cold liquid. Damn, that felt better. Okay, Tylenol next, in the cupboard by the stove. I turned around...

"What you doing out of bed?"

Soda's sudden appearance shocked me and I stepped back, losing my hold on anything solid and expertly crumpled to the floor. The glass in my hand hit the lino and shattered, sending shards in every direction. He was beside me in an instant.

"Oh, shit, Steve, sorry! I didn't mean to scare ya!" So what was he doing creeping up on me then? "Don't move, there's glass everywhere. I'll get it cleaned up. Don't move!" he ordered again as I made a move to stand. "Ya'll end up stepping on it."

He stood up and went to find the broom, picking his way carefully through the mess in his socked feet. I stayed where I was, feeling slightly dizzy from my journey to hug the floor. I was just wondering how peeved he'd actually be if I _did _get up, when Darry came in through the back door.

"What the heck happened here?" he asked, seeing me sitting there in my bare feet with imitation diamonds all around me.

I shrugged.

"Slight mishap."

"Ya don't say."

The next second he was crunching over the glass in his work boots and then the floor suddenly fell away as he lifted me up and carried me out of the disaster area. It was a few moments before I even comprehended what was happening, then I began to struggle.

"Hey, Dar, quit! Put me down!" I almost whined. Not that I did. That wouldn't be a very tuff thing to do now, would it?

He listened so far as to dump me on the couch – I'm pretty sure he had been heading towards the bedroom – and fetched a blanket which he then wrapped around me, despite my protests.

"How you feeling, Steve?"

"Fine," I answered sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes.

"Want anything?"

"Um...I guess Tylenol," I confessed and he went to get me the bottle, Soda almost tripping him up with the broom when he entered the kitchen. I had to smile as Darry slapped him good-naturedly upside the head and Soda pouted at him in mock hurt. Darry brought me the pills and a fresh glass of water. I swallowed both eagerly.

"How long I been here?"

"Ya don't remember?"

"Not much."

"Ya turned up yesterday night, drenched as all get out."

"Darry found ya on the porch!" Soda yelled, busy hiding the glass under the kitchen table. "God knows how long ya'd been there if he had gone to bed."

"_Anyway_ – " Darry continued, shooting a glare towards the kitchen at the interruption. "Like I said, you were soaked so I brought you in, got ya outta your wet things and put you to bed."

"Out of my wet things?" I repeated slowly.

"Yeah?"

"So...that would make these yours then?" I asked in a low whisper.

I may still have been wrapped up good but he followed the downward point of my finger well enough. He sent me an embarrassed grin and I swear he were blushing.

"Yeah," he admitted. "They're mine."

I continued staring at him.

"I didn't see anything!" he shot back.

"What happened next?" I asked, deciding to wipe the whole incident from memory.

"Ya woke up a few times, but ya never really seemed with it. Ya were awful hot."

I almost jumped as he unexpectedly reached out and put his hand on my forehead.

"Ya seem much better now, though," he added.

Soda emerged with a glass of orange juice, offering it to me as he leaned against the back of the sofa.

"Here. Drink as much as that as ya like. Dar made Two-Bit get it special for you."

"He did?"

I looked over at the eldest Curtis, who avoided my gaze and merely shrugged.

"Knew you didn't like grapefruit," he replied simply.

Really? Huh. I honestly wouldn't have a clue if Darry'd prefer orange or grapefruit. Nor Ponyboy for that matter. Two-Bit would just want beer.

"Thanks."

The word slipped out without thinking, but I realised I meant it. Darry finally turned to look at me, before giving me a kinda smile. He knew I wasn't just talking about juice.

"You're welcome, little bro."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note: The last chapter was supposed to be the last in my mind. Yet for some reason it didn't want to end where and how I wanted. It's either a very good or a very bad sign when the characters start thinking for themselves...**

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><p><strong>Steve's POV<strong>

It kept bugging at me. I don't know why but it did.

Almost a week had gone past and the Curtis' had finally released me from their 'prison', allowing me to venture outside and actually return to my own home. Not that it mattered. I don't think my dad even realised I was gone.

Anyway, like I were saying, it had been a week. A week since Darry had uttered those words, words that only I seemed to find strange. Soda didn't even bat an eyelid.

_"You're welcome, little bro."_

Why? Why did he say that? Little bro. I'd have understood 'little buddy'. But bro?

Funny how a few words can get right under your skin, ain't it?

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><p>I slipped through the back door, quietly checking the house and finding it empty. Empty of everyone except the exact person I wanted to talk to. I walked into the living room and stood in front of his chair, staring at him. It was a few moments before Darry looked up, surprised at the expression on my face.<p>

"Something wrong, Steve?" he asked.

"Did...did I say anything...stupid...while I was ill?"

He blinked, honestly confused.

"What?"

"Did I maybe...say something I shouldn't have? Something...something I would probably have preferred you not to know?"

He gazed back at me for a few seconds, then I saw something click inside his head, understanding and realisation dawning in his eyes though he quickly tried to hide it.

"I dunno what you mean, Steve – "

"Shit, I did, didn't I? I told you! God damn it, I told you!"

I turned on my heel and was just about to go running for the door when a firm hand clamped around my wrist and Darry pulled me down to sit on the arm of his chair. I gazed hard at the wall, not meeting his eyes, strickened that my secret wasn't apparently so safe.

"It's okay, Steve," he told me soothingly.

Like hell it was.

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><p><strong>Darry's POV<strong>

"It's okay, Steve," I told him.

He was shifting agitatedly, avoiding my gaze, and I kept my grip on him just in case he made sudden break for it. Didn't seem too unlikely he would.

I sighed softly to myself, studying his face intently. How the hell was I supposed to console a kid who was obviously so embarrassed by the fact he had spilled to me his secret longing for a family that cared? How the heck was I supposed to convince him that he in fact _had_ that family already, if he could just open his eyes and see it? If he could only look past his drunken dad, the broken home, the menial job with occasional cocky Soc customers, past all that to the friends who fought by him, who fed him, _loved _him, and who had to deal with Two-Bit annoying whinging 'cos I made him spend his cigarette money on OJ.

"Listen, Steve, it's _okay_."

"I can't believe I told you."

"Come, kiddo, does it really matter?"

"Yes!" he replied, frustrated, running his hand through his hair. "Because now you know what a pathetic, insecure little wimp I am."

"Quit that!" I admonished sternly. "What makes you think I think that?"

"Well, don't ya? Don't ya think it's just a little pathetic that Steve Randle is jealous? Jealous of Soda, not for his looks or his way with girls or his expertise on cars. But because he has the one thing I'll never get. A big brother like you."

I simply stared at him as he glared at me with teary eyes. He'd completely knocked me speechless. There was nothing I could think of to say to that, no words...

No words.

I stood up quickly, pulled him to his feet and wrapped my arms around him in a tight hug. The move shocked him so much he froze for a few moments then he struggled weakly against me, a half-assed attempt like he thought he'd oughta but didn't really want to.

"It _is_ stupid, really, isn't it, Darry?" he asked me in quivering voice once he'd stopped fighting. "To hope for something that you'll never have."

"To be honest, buddy? I think what you've said is...well, yeah, stupid. And a little bit sad."

He started seriously trying to get away from me at that point so I tightened my hold on him to keep him still. He made have started this conversation but I was gonna finish it.

"You just don't see it, do you, Steve?"

"See what?"

"Take last week for example. Do ya honestly think I'd take in any ol' sick kid in from the street and patch 'em up?"

"Well...no..."

"And take the Shepard boys. Sure, they're good in a rumble but do I give them lifts to work or pick them up from school?"

"I really don't know where you're going with this, Dar."

"Take big step back and look at it, Steve. Who do you go to when ya need to vent? Soda. Why? 'Cos he's ya friend, yeah, ya _best_ friend but is that all it is? Where's the place you most often eat breakfast? Well, I dunno really where ya are the rest of the time but I sure know ya spend a few mornings a week here. If ya want a night out anywhere doing anything, who's always up to go with you? Two-Bit. And then when he's lost all his money in a game of poker who's he gonna take with him to help him sneak in the Dingo? Ah ha, you. Ya seeing what I'm saying here, kid?"

He opened his mouth then closed it again, yet I could see the wheels turning in his head. I moved my hands to his shoulders and made him look at me.

"Bottom line, Steve. What do I do for Soda and Pony that I wouldn't do for you and Two-Bit? What would Soda do for Ponyboy that he wouldn't do for you? Ya don't _need_ to be jealous of Soda 'cos he's got a brother, Steve. Ya got four of ya own right here."

He continued gazing at me for a moment, then suddenly let out a small smile, much to my relief.

"I never saw it all like that," he admitted, abashed, ducking his head. Then he glanced up at me. "Thanks, Dar."

"You're welcome, little bro."

That made him smile again then he looked away, biting his lip, before turning back to me with that old familiar smirk.

"Oh, and just for the record? I may spend most of my mornings here but, seriously, you Curtis boys have some weird eating habits. I don't think ya've _ever_ served up a proper breakfast."

I made a 'pfft' noise and turned in the direction of the kitchen.

"I don't care what ya say, Stevo," I called over my shoulder. "Chocolate cake totally counts."

* * *

><p><strong>That's all folks!<strong>

**Like I said earlier Chapter 3 was supposed to be it. Darry _was _supposed to say 'You're welcome, little buddy' at the end and that would be that. But somehow 'little buddy' didn't feel right, it didn't flow like I expected. So yeah, he called him 'little bro' and then Steve hijacked my keyboard because he desperately wanted to know _why_. They both may have been slightly OOC in this chapter but my opinion neither featured enough in the book and therefore we never got to see the 'real them' underneath the tough greaser act. Just glimpses, such as Steve's reaction after Dally got shot and Darry's tears when him and Soda go to get Pony from the hospital after the fire.**

**Anyhoo, I'll shut up now. Thanks for reading!**


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